


protector of your heart

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Guardian Angels, Jaskier is not human, M/M, why? because he can't die i won't allow it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22520476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: Geralt knows Jaskier isn't human the moment they meet. He never would've guessed what he was, though, not in a million years.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 20
Kudos: 1627





	protector of your heart

**Author's Note:**

> ok ive been seeing a lot of takes on non-human!jaskier and in this he's a tutelar; a tutelar is a deity or spirit who is a guardian, patron, or protector of a particular place, person, etc... basically he's geralt's guardian angel 
> 
> anyway! hope u enjoy <3 pls follow me on twitter @ queermight or tumblr @ korrmin

When Geralt first meets Jaskier, he knows something isn’t right about the bard. He doesn’t feel human, but he doesn’t feel like anything else he’s ever encountered, either.

He isn’t an elf, a mage, a fae, a doppler or any of the human-passing monsters Geralt knows. Geralt can’t help being curious–it’s in his blood, literally, Witchers are drawn to monsters but not as friends, but as prey and Jaskier, he learns, is not prey.

He’s not a danger, at least. He doesn’t hurt Geralt or others. On the contrary, he loves people and it’s obvious. He loves performing for them, laughing with them, _sleeping_ with them.

So Geralt decides it’s not important. He never asks.

Jaskier travels with him on and off, leaving for weeks before reappearing again, a bright and dopey smile on his face. Geralt tells him he should stop it–that it’s dangerous–but Jaskier is never deterred by his warnings _or_ threats.

That, he thinks, probably has something to do with the mystery, too.

Jaskier isn’t human, obviously, but is he strong enough to fend for himself? Doesn’t seem like it, considering Geralt is constantly jumping in front of him, protecting him.

He seems entirely human in those moments–Geralt can _smell_ the fear pouring off him. Literally.

Geralt almost asks him one night. It’s midnight, probably, and Jaskier had shown up a few days earlier, joining him as he traveled to the closest city in search of jobs, low on coins.

He’s sat up against a tree and Jaskier is laid out on the blanket he always carried with him. He’d never worried about stuff like that before the bard entered his life, complaining about the hard ground and prickly grass.

“Jaskier,” he says, but the bard doesn’t reply.

Frowning, Geralt nudges him with his foot and the bard rolls over, on his back. His eyes are closed. He lets out a loud snore. Geralt huffs out a laugh of amusement.

 _Oh, well,_ he decides, _it doesn’t really matter, anyway._

Human, bard, whatever, Jaskier was still just Jaskier. Geralt hmms, closing his eyes, suddenly sleepy. The truth was he was getting used to Jaskier’s company and that was more terrifying than anything, even not knowing the truth.

Jaskier leaves again a coupled days later, that same bright smile on his face.

“How do you always do that?” he asks without thinking.

Jaskier blinks, tilting his head. “What do you mean?” he asks.

Geralt watches him for a moment, silent. The smile has been wiped off his face, but the happiness that Jaskier wore like a mark was still plastered there, his eyes crinkling around the corners, an upward tilt to his mouth that never really went away unless he was _really_ upset.

“Smile all the time,” he says finally.

Jaskier laughs, soft and airy, and nudges Geralt as he walks by. “I’ll see you later, Geralt,” he says.

Geralt stares at the empty spot that Jaskier had taken up just seconds earlier. He frowns and presses his lips together, tight. Had he been expecting a real answer? Not really, but he was still disappointed.

Shaking his head, he walks over and pats Roach’s side. “Ready to go?”

She neighs, and he climbs onto her back, taking off.

He sees Jaskier again and it’s a mess– he accompanies him to a ball and ends up leaving with a child. Well, not _yet_. But he can feel it, deep in the pit of his stomach, weighing him down.

Jaskier scurries after him. “Um, well–even _I_ didn't see that coming frankly.”

Geralt stops in the middle of the road, hands curling into fists. He turns around. “Jaskier,” he says evenly. “I want to be alone right now.” Jaskier opens his mouth and he continues: “ _Go_.”

Frowning, an odd look on his usually happy face, Jaskier nods.

Geralt nods back tersely and turns around. He walks a few feet before he stops again and turns, searching for Jaskier but the bard is nowhere to be seen.

He sighs and turns back around, leaving the town and leaving Jaskier.

Geralt spots Jaskier a few times after that but he never approaches him but surprisingly the bard never approaches him, either. He smiles at him and waves, sometimes, before turning away and disappearing. Into crowds, into the woods.

Geralt feels–surprised, something Witchers don’t feel often. On top of that, he feels something even worse: disappointment.

Unreasonably angry, he accepts the first job he gets and stalks off. It’s an easy job–just a few drowner, but he needs it.

Geralt kills them viciously, snarling, and stands in the middle of the water, just above his ankles, long after they’re dead, taking deep breaths.

When he finally _properly_ sees Jaskier again, he’s searching for the djinn.

Jaskier saunters up like they’re old friends, like they haven’t spent the last few months dancing around each other. He asks what he’s searching for, and Geralt snaps.

He can’t help it. He feels like he’s losing his mind.

Jaskier frowns, but it’s less upset, more playful and pout-y. “You need a nap!” he exclaims with a gasp, hands on his hips.

When Geralt realizes what’s happening, Jaskier doubled over and clawing at his neck, he panics. He hasn’t panicked in years, not like this.

Geralt doesn’t even think twice before he’s picking Jaskier up and hurrying to Roach. He puts Jaskier on her back first before climbing up himself.

“Hold on,” he says but Jaskier can’t reply, just wraps his arms around Geralt as he takes off.

The touch is like poison to Geralt; it’s all he can focus on as he rides in search of a healer. He finds one and he says they need help that he can’t give them, but Geralt is not giving up.

He pushes for more information and that’s how he ends up meeting Yennefer of Vengerberg.

She’s beautiful, like most mages, with long dark curls and perfectly painted red lips. She stands at his arrival and asks what he wants.

Geralt presses his lips together, tight, knowing how mages play–dirty. He doesn’t want to ask for help, but one look at Jaskier and he knows he has no choice. Human or not, Jaskier was dying.

“Help–him,” he says, hesitating on what to call Jaskier.

Yennefer notices, he thinks, because she raises a dark eyebrow as she descends the steps, stopping in front of him.

“Okay,” she says after a brief stare-off, smirking. “Follow me.”

She stops the spell and Geralt watches, vaguely amused, as the townsfolk gasp and cover themselves before running off.

Geralt picks Jaskier up and follows her out of the room. She leads them down a long, winding hallway and opens the door to a bedroom. Geralt walks in and lingers near the door until she rolls her eyes, gesturing at the bed.

He nods curtly and walks over, gently placing the bard on the bed. Jaskier groans in pain, but otherwise he’s still and quiet.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she says and he watches, silent, as she starts mixing stuff. “But humans are tricky, weak.”

Geralt opens his mouth on instinct, ready to say _he’s not human,_ but he stops.

Yennefer finally mixes something and eyes it, nodding to herself. “We’ll start with this,” she says as if Geralt knows what she’s talking about. He has to blindly trust her and he hates that.

She walks over and sits on the edge of the bed. Reaches out, tilts Jaskier’s head back, and frowns.

“What?” he asks, and he realizes his hands are clammy.

Yennefer lifts her head, an odd look on her face. “Do you know what he is?” she asks.

Geralt’s stomach tightens, like a fist squeezing his insides. “No,” he says.

“Hmm,” she looks back at him. “Neither do I,” she says and she sounds–interested, curious. Shaking her head, she pours the mixture into the bard’s mouth and rubs his throat, helping it down.

Jaskier groans again but it’s softer, less frantic. Geralt watches as Yennefer stands, walking away from the bed.

He takes her place, staring down at the limp, sleeping bard with worry.

“So,” she prompts and he looks back at her, standing by the door. “I thought Witchers were lone wolves,” she says. “Tell me: who is he?”

Geralt looks away and stares at him for a few beats. “I–he’s a–” he stops, unsure of the right word. Jaskier had called them friends before, but Geralt had never returned the sentiment.

But now, as he’s watching him, with a knot in his stomach, he wonders if friend is even enough to describe their relationship.

“A friend?” she finishes.

Geralt sighs loudly and closes his eyes. “Something like that,” he says.

Yennefer leaves after that but Geralt soon finds her in the kitchen. She offers him a handful of berries and he wants to decline, but he hasn’t eaten all day. So he accepts a few, tossing them in his mouth.

She leans against a wall, munching on her own berries. “He’s powerful,” she says.

Geralt grunts in reply.

“Don’t you want to know?” she asks.

He grunts again and bites down hard on a berry, popping it in his mouth.

“Gods, you’re boring,” she sighs, tilting her head back against the wall. “Fine,” she says. “I won’t tell you anything but this: he’s nothing I’ve seen or met before. He’s powerful, but it’s–dormant. I don’t think he has magic, not in the usual sense of the word.”

Geralt looks up. He nods, silent. He files the information away for later.

“Right, well,” she finishes her berries and claps her hands together. “You smell like the back-end of a horse, so–” she raises her eyebrows. “I’ll prepare you a bath. You can thank me later.”

She isn’t joking, apparently, because he finds himself in a bath, all alone, a few minutes later. Geralt can’t help thinking of Jaskier.

 _And yet here we are,_ spoken like a fact.

When he steps out of the bath, he finds a stack of new, clean clothes and a note from Yennefer. _No point in a bath otherwise._

He frowns and dresses, walking back to Jaskier’s room immediately after.

Yennefer is sitting at the vanity when he enters, reapplying her lipstick, crushed berries in a bowl. She smiles as she turns around in her chair.

“I mixed something more potent and he seems to be responding well,” she says, and Geralt is hit with a sudden, staggering relief. He barely keeps his footing. “But you won’t want to move him for a few days, at least.”

He nods, silent, and walks to the bed, sitting down.

Yennefer hums as she finishes reapplying her lipstick, dropping the brush in the bowl, forgotten, as she stands up and walks over.

“You should ask him,” she says.

Geralt ignores her, watching Jaskier’s peaceful sleeping face.

“Traveling with him, not knowing, is dangerous,” she continues.

He almost laughs because–“my life is always dangerous,” he says gruffly. “Jaskier will not be the tipping point in regards to that.”

Yennefer frowns. She sits, primly, beside Geralt. “You care for him,” she says. It’s not a question, but a spoken fact.

Geralt purses his lips and shrugs. There was no point denying it.

“But…” she continues slowly and he can’t help but look at her, curious. He realizes how close they are, their faces just inches apart. “You never _wanted_ to care about him,” she finishes, quiet and soft.

There was no denying that, either. Geralt just stares at her without replying.

“Interesting,” she whispers before she lurches forward, slamming their lips together. It’s a harsh, painful kiss and Geralt growls, grabbing her shoulders and pushing her back.

She stares at him, brows furrowed, and he stares back, frowning.

“What was that for?” he asks finally, still holding her shoulders.

Yennefer almost looks taken back. She slumps–he can feel it under his hands. “I’ve–I’ve never been turned down before,” she says, a quiet admission.

Geralt doesn’t know what to say, so he says nothing.

“Hmm, well,” she stands up and adjusts her dress. She lingers there for a second, not saying before, before she turns and leaves the room.

Geralt frowns and looks at Jaskier, still sleeping peacefully. He reaches up and rubs his mouth with the back of his hand. He can taste her lipstick and he decides he doesn’t like it.

Jaskier doesn’t take days to heal, not like Yennefer expected. He’s fully healed in just fifteen hours, sitting up and begging for food.

“I thought you said–” Geralt begins, but she cuts him off with a sharp look.

“He shouldn’t have healed that fast,” she says, firm. “I told you, he’s not–”

Geralt glares at her, fire in his eyes, and she cuts herself off. Jaskier just smiles brightly, looking pleased.

“You must be a mighty talented sorceress, then,” he says.

Yennefer smiles, all tight. “Yes,” she says. “I suppose I am.”

They leave, as a pair, after that. Yennefer stops Geralt at the door, waiting until Jaskier is out of earshot to say, “I still think you should ask him about it.”

Jaskier pets Roach, whispering to her and laughing. Geralt watches him, drinking in the sight. He realizes with a sudden, stark clarity that he’d almost lost Jaskier, _really_ lost him, and he never wants that to happen.

“I don’t care,” he replies finally, ignoring her look of disapproval.

“Geralt–” she starts, but Jaskier turns around and grins. “Hey, come on,” he calls, pointing at Roach. “We’re getting restless here.”

Geralt looks at Yennefer and nods. “Thank you, Yen,” he says, meaning it.

She sighs, frowning. “Be safe,” she says to his back as he walks away, joining the bard and his horse.

After that, they travel together without even really discussing it. It’s as natural as breathing air.

Geralt finds that he really actually enjoys Jaskier’s company if he _lets_ himself.

Jaskier tells stories, sings songs, laughs and sometimes he even makes Geralt laugh, too. And he’s happy, he realizes, for the first time in years–decades. It’s a frightening realization.

He can’t sleep after it, can barely eat. He keeps staring at Jaskier.

“Geralt,” he says one night. “Is there a reason you keep staring at me like you’re thinking I’ll disappear the second you blink?”

Geralt startles, surprised to be caught, and looks down. “No,” he says.

“Okay,” he replies easily, and he can hear the smile in his voice. “So… you’re just staring at me for fun?” Geralt looks up just as he waggles his eyebrows, grinning. “Like the view?”

Geralt tries not to smile. He mostly succeeds. “Jaskier,” he says, and suddenly he remembers Yennefer’s words, clear as day. “I–I think we need to talk.”

“Oh,” Jaskier doesn’t sound nervous at all as he shifts, sitting on his legs. “Okay, what is it?”

Geralt hmms, glancing around and searching for the right words like he might find them tucked away in the forest. When he doesn’t find anything but rotting wood and bugs, he sighs.

“Jaskier, I _know_ ,” he says simply.

When he looks up, Jaskier is staring at him oddly. “What do you mean?”

“I know,” he repeats simply. “I know you’re not human.”

If Geralt wasn’t a Witcher he might’ve missed it: the flash of fear in Jaskier’s eyes. He sits up straighter.

“I’m not mad, Jaskier,” he says. “I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to know the truth.” He pauses. “Can you tell me?”

Jaskier glances around now like he’s searching for an escape, and Geralt reaches out, placing a heavy hand on his leg. Jaskier startles, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Um,” he says. “How–how did you find out?”

Geralt raises an eyebrow. “How do you think?” he asks blandly. “I can tell a monster from a human, Jaskier,” he says and he doesn’t miss the way he flinches at the word _monster_.

“That’s what you think I am?” he asks, quiet. “A monster?”

Geralt frowns. “No, no,” he says. “I did not mean that. You know as much.”

Jaskier stands up suddenly and Geralt jumps up seconds later, grabbing his arm before he could make a run for it.

“It’s okay, Jaskier,” he says. “Don’t run.”

Jaskier looks at him with wide eyes. “You won’t believe me,” he whispers.

Geralt smiles, just the barest hint of teeth. “Try me,” he replies.

“I–okay,” Jaskier says, slow. “Um. Okay, we should probably–” he gestures at the ground. “Sit or something.”

Geralt seems hesitant– _is_ hesitant–but he releases his arm and sits down, trusting him. Jaskier sits down, too.

“Geralt,” he starts after a few long quiet seconds. “Do you know what a tutelary spirit is?”

He mulls it over. He thinks he’s heard the term before but he can’t place it. “Maybe?” he replies finally, frowning. “Why?”

Jaskier smiles, almost looking sad. “Tutelars, you may even call them guardian angels, are creatures–um, _protectors.”_

Geralt nods, listening but not really understanding. “Protectors… of _what_?” he asks, searching the bard’s face.

“Oh, Geralt,” he breathes and reaches out, slow, cupping the side of his face. “You’re not _that_ dumb,” he says, entirely fond. “We’re protectors of Witchers, mages, any kind of magical, _sentient_ being. Even humans, though less commonly."

Geralt can’t help the way he leans into his touch. “Okay, but why–” he cuts himself off, a rushing in his ears. “ _We’re_?” he parrots, staring into Jaskier’s eyes, blue as the ocean.

He watches, silent and stunned, as Jaskier shifts in front of him. His eyes turn a bright, unnatural gold, his pupils thinning into slits and his skin takes on the lightest green hue, ears growing pointed at the tips. He's literally glowing.

He looks like an elf, kind of, but not quite right.

“I’m–” Jaskier takes a breath and starts over. “You’re not supposed to know.”

Geralt stares at him, at a loss for words. He reaches out with both hands and cups Jaskier’s face. Jaskier smiles softly.

“Not what you were expecting, I’m guessing?” he says with a hint of humor.

Geralt can _smell_ the nerves on him, though, eating him alive. Like he thinks Geralt could ever be displeased with his true form. It’s striking, beautiful.

“No,” he admits. “But–wow.”

Jaskier smiles, almost shy. “I can’t leave your side, Geralt,” he says, a quiet admission. “Not for long of periods of time, at least,” he continues, no longer smiling. “If I do–if I stay away for too long, I’ll start to… disappear.” Geralt looks at him, a question in his eyes, and he smiles again, tight around the edges. “ _Literally_ ,” he confirms.

Geralt nods and suddenly everything made sense. “That’s why we always found each other again,” he mumbles, mostly to himself.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier says quickly. “But I hope you know I was never just–doing any of this for my own survival. Well,” he frowns, looking down. “I was, at first, but once I got to know you, Geralt, I–I realized I actually kind of liked you,” he finishes, quiet.

Geralt stares at him, makes note of the fear in his eyes, the tremble in his voice. He’s never been good at easing tension but right now he has to try. “ _Just_ ”kind of“?” he asks.

Jaskier stares back until he’s suddenly laughing, wet and sharp. “No,” he says through the laughter. “I found myself liking you _a lot,_ Geralt.”

“Hmm,” he replies and strokes his thumb across the smooth skin of Jaskier’s cheek. “Okay,” he says.

Jaskier blinks once. “Okay?” he parrots in confusion. “Um. What exactly does–”

Geralt leans in, slow, and presses their foreheads together. Jaskier shuts up, biting his bottom lip. “You’ll die if we part ways,” he whispers, “so I guess we have no choice but to stick together from now on.”

“Oh, well, yes,” Jaskier stammers. “I–I suppose so.”

Geralt smiles, just the barest hint of teeth, and decides in that moment–his arms wrapped around Jaskier’s waist, the bard mumbling nonsense about tutelary deities–that maybe Destiny isn’t _always_ so bad.


End file.
